


Weronika Kawka - A Legacy in the Making.

by Holly_Hampshire



Category: tiktok mafia
Genre: TikTok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holly_Hampshire/pseuds/Holly_Hampshire
Summary: Ok so this is just a oneshot? Imagine?? Of my mafia oc that I wrote on my phone - hence why the word count is so low.This doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to start a series on her, but I would GREATLY appreciate any thoughts you have on her or the writing ??Thank you :)
Kudos: 1





	Weronika Kawka - A Legacy in the Making.

Kawka sat in her ‘throne', gazing down at the entrance of the room with solemn interest. It was quiet, and no one else occupied the space that she was in. No music or chatter met her ears, only the soft breathing and the noise her clothes made as she shifted in her seat.

For the first time since she reclaimed her clan, Kawka was alone. With no father standing beside her to keep her company or Dean to jest at – she was finally alone with her thoughts. A dangerous notion indeed. Words alone could kill if left to fester. It wasn’t often that she allowed her mind to wander but with no other distractions it wasn’t long before meaningless memories began to plague her. With her cheek resting against the bruised knuckles of her hand, she looked back on the very situation that landed her in what would be her unjust demise.

She was only young then. She didn’t know about the workings of being involved with such people, nor did she care about partaking in similar events. If she thought hard enough – and needless to say that she would never admit this out loud, lest someone be tempted to take advantage of the fact – she might say that even still, Kawka isn’t proud of the woman that she has become. The life of a mafia woman is one of solitude and pride if not unconventional. People respected her and sought after her wisdom. There were very few who Weronika trusted let alone confided in, and even then, words alone would not do.

Her knuckles released for a brief moment to allow her slender fingers to graze the tip of her lip. A cruel reminder of her incompetence.

At first glance, he was sweet. A newbie amongst the more experienced ranks of her uncle’s reign. Perhaps that’s the mirage he had wanted her to see. Their meeting was completely coincidental; they had crossed paths in one of the many corridors belonging to her family. He had appeared lost and flustered. Kawka had thought him cute then. Their meetings had grown increasingly frequent there after and she had found herself unconsciously searching for him amidst the crowds. It was strange in the beginning – longing for someone you knew hardly anything about.

The first time they had initiated something a little beyond what was considered appropriate was during the summer. Nothing too strenuous, a simple walk through National Park and a drink. It was the simplicity that had tricked her into thinking that perhaps – just for the day – she was something more than just an heir. He had made her believe his lies. She had believed him when he told her that he wanted something more than times conversations. She had trusted him with her insecurities and doubts about belonging to such a family.

Most importantly of all, she had confided in him about their plans to extend their boarders. Eyes turning dark, Kawka’s hand slowly coiled itself into a fist.

No less than a day later, news had spread of her apparent disloyalty. How she had indulged the enemy in knowing of what they were going to commence. The boy who had captured her heart had long since disappeared by then. Her family had shunned her and called her a “traitor", claiming further that women were not made to uphold the mafia lifestyle. Petty feelings had lead her into this predicament. Despite her father’s pleas – God bless the poor man, having barely survived the loss of her mother – a treaty was made between their rival group and themselves. In return for the information spilt, they would offer up the very person who betrayed them in the first place. The conditions of this agreement were as such; the rival group would offer up a small portion of their area, however, there will be no restrictions as to how they handle and care for the traitor.

She can distinctly remember her father’s cry. His pleading with his brother as the contract was sealed and dealt. She can remember the cold look of indifference on her uncle’s face as she was taken away, her cousins watching in disbelief as the scene played out before them. She doesn’t blame them – doesn’t hold a single drop of malice towards them because they were like her. They were young and scared. To go up against the leader of the pack is suicide in itself. She remembers how her father fought, clawing at his brother’s shoulders, on his knees and begging to give his daughter another chance at redemption. She can still feel the itchiness of the bag that was placed over her head soon after.

Kawka had wanted to die. In the beginning it was torture through and through. They hadn’t allowed her to grow accustomed to her new home. They hadn’t allowed her drinks or nourishment as they escorted her throughout the building. The first thing she was permitted to see once they removed the bag from her head was a pair of pliers and the glint of scissors as they removed her tongue without a care of whether or not she choked on her own blood. She had wanted to die then. Wanted to plead for her life – a life where she didn’t give in to feelings and one where she could live behind the bars of her room where her father would be waiting with open arms. They said the only reason they didn’t kill her straight off the bat was because they saw potential in her. That despite her gender, she could prove to be a useful tool in the art of intercepting foes. That by losing her voice, she would no longer be in threat of speaking secrets. It was then that the child in her died, and Weronika was reborn.

When she saw him again, she might’ve killed him. How dare he – the vile, slimy, blithering snake be able to stand there with a clear conscious and laugh among his comrades while she watches from the shadows taking orders from viscous dogs who have violated the very essence of her pride.

Why does he have the right to behave the way she once did, and not suffer the repercussions?  
Why does he still have a life evasive of regret?  
Why couldn’t she have been wiser, to have been able to see through his honey-coated lies?

And then he looks at her.

And she knows that he recognises her.

And suddenly the world is at a stand-still. His face is blank of emotion. He looks her once over and nods as if to say ‘You’re alive’ or maybe ‘I was following orders.’ And strangely enough, the realisation that there was nothing truly there between them in the first place puts Weronika at ease. So she smiles. Smiles remotely and turns to walk away. 

As if repeating history, the next day he was proclaimed missing.

Presently, Weronika still doesn’t fully understand what happened to the boy, much less care. Perhaps he is in hiding or maybe he has found solace working for another group. Wherever he is, she hopes he found what he was looking for.

The entrance doors open with a sharp ‘klang' and Weronika's eyes dart upwards in a stern glare. There stood Dean – a lopsided smile graced his face as his mask hung loosely on the side of his head. Weronika took note of his similarly bruised knuckles before returning his playful stare.

“Hey baby,” he spoke with an even pitched tone. He swung his bloodied bat over his right shoulder “It’s go time.”

And for the first time since delving deep into her past, Weronika smirked with tainted glee before standing from her seated position and signing back:

'I've been waiting.'

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked whatever this is :))
> 
> Thank you for reading ❤


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